


The future of a nightmare.

by alcoholinspired



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 19:14:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10928259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcoholinspired/pseuds/alcoholinspired
Summary: Marian pays a visit to Anders. Or maybe no.





	The future of a nightmare.

Such a heavy day at the clinic. It has been this way for the third week in a row. All sorts of sickness and misery knocking at his door, asking for help or relief. People would thank him in many ways, with words, touches on the shoulders, handshake, tears, but none of them actually reached him. They feared him, like a plague, a tainted plague. In the same way they protected they feared. Magic, the rumors of being a warden and the other rumors. At least now he wasn’t alone, there were people protecting him, friends, and someone.

Tired, so much tired. Back hurt from attending so many people, energy drained from healing. A time for himself. A little time in the mess of his life to be selfish. It was everything he wanted, a little time where the world could just burn and sort itself out and he could be happy, could be held, could be loved.

He was still, in the middle of the clinic, steadying himself with the help of his staff. The forehead pressed against the dragon like head on it. Eyes shut, breath steady, trying to calm himself, bury for a moment the fear, the paranoia, the loneliness, the anger; but his thoughts betrayed him again, as they came to do after a time since she came into his life. How good would be, how wonderful, to lay by her side, embrace her waist and rest his head on her breasts. Feel the touch of her skin and the touch of the crimson velvet robes she wears at home. Kiss her breasts devotedly and nuzzle his head on them while she returned his affections embracing him too, with one hand caressing his head while the other held his shoulder tightly. She too would kiss him, would answer his love with hers, and he would sleep safely on her warmth and cares.

But he was alone. Hidden like a rat in a sewer, getting startled at every noise, surrounded by disgrace and eyes colored in pity, fear, spite, condescension. He was a freak, a disease to be purged, fated to end alone and forgotten, and if it wasn’t enough, tainted for the rest of the short lifetime that awaited him, to not being able to be a real man and build a family with the one he loved.

So he felt arms hugging him by the waist and a head leant against his back at his heart height. He raised his head startled when he heard her voice:

“Shh, don’t worry, it’s me, Marian.”

Her body too touched him, her hips, her tights. He gasped for air, his heart beat faster and stronger, he held the staff tightly. The chest constricted. Maker.

“Marian? What are you doing here, it’s late.” How good it was to say her name.

“I came to check on you. It’s been days since we last saw each other.”

“I know my… my friend. But I thought you were occupied.”

“I missed you.” She tightened the hug, holding his coat with clenched fists and kissing his back right where his heart was. Where it hurt.

“Please… please don’t do this.” He held his staff even tighter. The tension evident in the lines of his hands. Trying hard not to throw it on the floor and cover her hands with his own.

“I missed you.” She nuzzled her head against his back.

“Marian…” He tilted his head back.

“You’re tired. So tired. Let me take care of you.” She released his coat and caressed his chest.

“You know how I feel about you, don’t tempt me. Don’t play with me. Not with this.” It was a plea, for he knew he wouldn’t hold himself back for much long. Not with her this close.

“Is that what you think of me? A player?” Her voice weaved between sadness and anger. She stopped caressing his chest, easing the hug, stepping back so her hips and legs wouldn’t touch him, and pressed her jaw against that same point on his back. It hurt.

“No! No. Maker no! That was not what I meant!” He returned his head to its normal position, one hand released the staff and fell by his side, the other loosened it’s grasp on the it. The inner part of the eyebrows raised and pulled together, the heart skipped a beat. He didn’t want her to release him.

“So what was that you meant?”

“I’ve seen you flirting with others, hugging them, kissing them. It hurts me.” His breath was heavy. Damnation, why does he ruins everything?

“If I flirt with others is because you did not want me. If I hold them it’s because you did not want me to hold you. If I kiss others it’s because you did not want me to kiss you. It’s your doing. Your fault.”

“I… I know.” It was true, she was right. He turned her down, had no claim over her, no right to ask anything of her, but he was weak, he was a coward. Her strength, her courage, her sense of justice, everything she was and how she treated him made her his beacon of hope, his brightful light in the darkness of his life, and unless she expressly ditched him, he would not leave her. That much he knew.

She did not reply. Instead, she released him, moved to his front, inches close to him, he lowered his head, away from her look. Her hands touching his chest at his heart height, looking to the eyes he aimed at the floor without the courage to face her, and said:

“Then would you tell me to stop? Would you tell me you don’t want?”

He trembled. He couldn’t tell her no. He couldn’t tell her no when she was with her hands on his chest, upon his heart; it would be a lie and the heartbeats would tell right away. So he only sighed.

He thought about walking away before succumbing to temptation, but before he could give two steps she hugged him again, softly, in a way he could indeed walk away as he meant. Instead, his eyes widened and his mouth parted, all his muscles tensed and the ebb and flow of the lungs reacting to the anxiety could not be hidden by the layers of cloth.

“I love you.” It was her voice, muttered so low only he could barely hear. Her face hidden on his chest, shaded by the feathers.

“…Marian…”

If he already didn’t had the heart to part ways with her, those words were the words to make him stay. Strong as bidding spell or a glyph. The air faltered for a moment, the arm of the hand still holding the staff waved before falling defeated to the resting position. The hand lost its strength and released the staff to the floor. It made a loud sharp noise that made Marian react. She pressed herself against him, hiding more of her face on the feathered bolero and enclosed her hands on his back. It would scratch if not for the thick coat. And he would not complain.

He finally held her. Tightly. Desperate. Possessive. All those years longing for her, watching she make use of her charms just as much as her power, the sideways looks given and received from the people who fell to her charms, the blistering jealousy whenever someone else got her attention, nothing of that matters now, nothing else matters. She was there, on his arms, holding the feathers of his coat with one hand and the other in the same spot her head leant moments ago, a bit hidden under the feathered bolero. He embraced her, effectively shadowing her with his large shoulders, a hand buried on the pitch black hair the other on her back, both bringing her closer. He buried his face on her hair, messing it, feeling its smell, its texture, kissing her crown as devotedly as he would with her breasts and everything else. If she wants him to be her lover, her husband, her partner, then damn sure he will.

She answered his kisses by kissing his chest, his tight embrace by a tight embrace. He caught her head on his hands. And their eyes finally met, his amber with her light sky blue that shone like two jewels among the pale white of her skin, all more evident by the starless night of her hair and the blood red of her lips. He cupped her face with both hands, caressing her cheeks with the thumbs; her eyes closed and the lips parted in anticipation, her breath as anxious as his. He touched his forehead with hers, she opened her eyes up the middle, looking right into his, he nuzzled his nose tip with hers, and asked her:

“Are you sure you want this? Are you sure you want me?”

“I want you, only you.”

“I love you, I love you Marian. I can’t bear the thought of loose you.”

“You aren’t going to loose me.”

Then he kissed her. A kiss full of demands, of love, lust, hunger. Her hands traveled his back, his arms, his hips. He was aching, as he had so many nights, but now she was here with him, so hand he brought her hips closer to his for her to feel him. She answered by swaying her hips a bit, making he ache harder, in response he groped her buttock pressing her against him even harder. Their clothes started to bother and they had to part to take them out.

She gave a step back, the robe covering her body already messed by the embrace. She caressed his feathers, black feathers, where had he dyed them? Her hands traveled down the renegade coat, black in color, with golden borders. He certainly looked like a black bird, a crow. The only thing not taken yet by darkness were his pale aged skin and the golden hair. He took her hands and kissed their palms, she cupped his face caressing his lips and he covered her hands with his own, closing the eyes, enjoying being under her spell. She released his face, to which he opened the eyes, and guided his hands to her body. Her robes were made of a refined shining crimson velvet that looked very much like fresh blood. He opened the robe with ease, for it was not very much tied to begin with and moved it away so he could get a clear view of her.

And so she was there. The nude torso shaped by battles, the breasts perfect, the skin pale reflecting the light and contrasting sharply with her crimson robe the same way his with the black coat. Covering her sex was a scarf, made of silk, red in color, embroidered with a golden line. Maker she was perfect. Sculpted like a muse.

He touched her breasts, fondling them, gently circling her nipples, she answered by moaning and tilting her head a little. He was getting hard, he wanted her closer again, wanted to get rid of the robe still on her shoulders and the scarf on her waist, get rid of his coat, and Andraste’s flaming ass the thing was so complicate. He put his hands on each hypochondrium and brought her closer, they kissed again, passionately, he left her lips to trail a way to her collarbone, she held his shoulders tightly, the black feathers all ruffled up by her cares.

She gave a few steps forward, forcing him to step back, to which he did without flinch. His foot hit something, maybe a cot, but when he looked back it was a wooden crate. Shouldn’t the cursed thing be elsewhere? But he couldn’t care less. He sat on it, embracing her waist to bring her closer, already with his mouth on her breasts, pushing her robe down, she was with her hands on his head, holding his hair tight, loosening the man bun, one of his hands was groping her buttock, trying to bring her leg to his side, before he could do anything else, she pulled his hair forcing him to face her. It startled him. Had he done something wrong? Had she played with him?

“Wouldn’t you prefer me to do something with you? Or for you?”

“Love, I…”

She didn’t allow him to answer, she kissed him, but it wasn’t a passionate kiss, it wasn’t a tender kiss; he didn’t like its harshness, but didn’t protest. When she finished they looked to each other, her eyes were cold, it sent a shiver down his spine.

“Don’t you want me? Don’t you want me to love you?”

“I want… I do… I adore you.”

“Good my dear. Good.”

She loosened her grip on his hair, kissed his face, he wanted to kiss her again, feel her warmth again, but she didn’t let him. She bent down while kissing his neck opening his feathered bolero until she was on her knees. Her robe was hanging on her elbows, giving a free view of her pale back, he embraced her, kissing her head and caressing it while also holding her tightly, she didn’t bother taking the coat out of him, she tore down the scarf and the shirt he wore. He would make a fake complain about it, but he was afraid of annoying her more. To hell with it, it was past time for he to find another.

She was kissing his chest in a way he was sure it would leave a trail of hickeys, her hands groped him carelessly, scratching his skin, clawing it. Was why she hurting him?

She raised her head to kiss his jawline, he lowered his to kiss her back. They kissed again, but she ended the kiss and looking sharply to his eyes asked:

“Do you want me to love you?”

“I do…”

“Why would I if you never did anything right?”

He wanted to answer her, but she was right, never he had done anything worthy of someone’s else good graces, let alone love. He couldn’t face her much longer.

“Would you like to do something good? Would you like to do something for me?”

She cupped his face gently, brushing his lips with her thumb. He kissed her fingertip and answered.

“I would.”

“Then, do you let me show you how?”

“I do.”

So it was. He felt the burning of a wound on his chest, a blade, long and sharp, but not made of metal trough his body. He raised his head and closed his eyes, the blood, brightly red falling from his mouth to her face. Her form changing, the eyes cruel without an iris, horns came of her head, the fingers that tore his shirt and body sharp as claws and the goat like legs he couldn’t see in the dark hidden by the robes.

For that wasn’t his beloved Marian. That was a demon.

That was Vengeance.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this fanart. Link from the author: http://lyrroht.tumblr.com/post/149383538911/headcanon-where-anders-is-in-love-with-hawke-so
> 
> Leave your word!


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